The Time Traveler, Book 3: A Gift for Charity
by Fuzzy-Pamplemousse
Summary: Charity & Dominique are orphaned sisters living on the streets of Paris, 1890. When a mysterious package arrives, they are caught up in finding their parents, and saving them from their grim fates. Complete!
1. Introduction

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 1- Charity

**August 12th, 1887**

My name is Charity and I am fifteen years old. This is the first time in my life I have bothered to write anything of significance. Gabriella, the librarian taught me to read and write. She's teaching Dominique now. Sometimes, Dominique comes home with a book that she uses to practice.

For as long as I can remember, I have been in charge. Dominique is eight years younger than me. She doesn't know how lucky she is. We are orphans. We have nothing but the rags we call clothes, and whatever food I can steal.

Steal. I hate the word. Everything it represents is evil. But I have no choice. We haven't any money, so I go out and steal food.

Dominique doesn't know I steal. She doesn't know how much trouble I could be in if I were caught. I have been stealing for us since I was nine, and Dominique was three. I love my little sister. I couldn't bear it if she had to go even one day without food. So every day I sneak out and steal. I have no choice.

Today, I hurried through the streets of Paris. In my hands was a whole loaf of bread. I felt pride that I would be able to bring home a loaf of bread. But I wasn't safe yet.

I skirted a cart filled with oranges. I stopped. Oranges were rare in these parts. Even one or two would be a feast. I needed to make a feast today. Today was Dominique's birthday, and I wanted it to be special.

I could hear the soldiers shouting behind me. I quickly grabbed two oranges and stuffed them into my pack. Then I dashed past the owner of the cart. He was picking up an orange that had fallen. I ran off into the crowd. Then I slowed my pace. I wanted to blend in. I melted into the crowd and easily made my way across the marketplace.

When I neared the area where out home was, I quickened my pace. The crowd was thinning, and if I wanted to return home in time, I needed to hurry. I arrived home and knocked three short knocks on the door, then two long. Now Dominique would know it was me.

I opened the small door to the warehouse and stepped inside. The wood creaked as I closed the door behind me. Empty wooden crates were stacked along the wall. I whistled and called Dominique's name. I saw her peek her head out from behind a crate. When she saw me, she ran out from behind the crate.

"You're back!" She cried, and ran up to me. She threw her arms around me and squeezed me in a big hug. I nearly dropped the bread and oranges.

"Look what I brought," I said when she released me. She jumped up and down and squealed in delight when she saw the bread and oranges. "We'll feast tonight," I declared. I ruffled my sister's blond hair. "Happy birthday, Dominique," I said. She beamed up at me.

"I'm seven now," she said proudly.

"That you are," I agreed, and dragged a crate a little away from the wall to use as a table. As I did, I heard something bang against the wall.

Dominique came up to me and said," Um, Charity? I don't know if you know this, but someone knows we live here."

I stared at her dumbly for a moment. "What do you mean?" I asked her.

"Well," she said nervously. "Someone was here today. He left a package and it's addressed to you."

She bent down behind a crate and picked up a small, flat, rectangular package. I turned it around form side to side.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I didn't open it." She sat down with it on her lap. I took it from her and examined it from all angles. Then I put it to my ear. I didn't hear anything, so I figured it wasn't dangerous. However, I think that it would be wise for us to have an adult around when we open it. That's what I told Dominique.

"How about Gabriella?" Dominique suggested.

"Sure," I agreed, and nodded. Actually, Gabriella would be a perfect person to help us out, seeing as how she's very well educated and, I mean, come on! She can read and write! Few women can do that. We are lucky that she taught us how.

I packed the loaf of bread and the two oranges into the pack that I always keep with me, and we set off for the library.

I held Dominique's hand as we crossed the street. Everywhere we went, people were chatting. Dominique was pulling me along, so I hurried to the library with her. When we arrived, Dominique knocked on the big doors and I opened them. Gabriella's one rule is that we knock before we enter. That way, she's knows that someone is at the door.

I walked in and let go of Dominique's hand. She ran into the main room where all the books were. It always seems to amaze me how she gets so excited every time she walks in there. But maybe that's because she doesn't remember our mother.

I remember her. I don't remember much about her, but I remember that she was smart, and beautiful. She would often read me stories, and she would take me to the library. Gabriella remembers her, too. But she promised me she wouldn't say anything to Dominique.

Dominique never knew our mother. You see, our mother died in childbirth with Dominique. If I were to mention her, Dominique would immediately become sad. She blames herself. She says that she was the reason why our mother died. I have tried to persuade her otherwise, but she won't listen. So my only other alternative is to make sure that no one brings up the subject of our mother in front o Dominique.

I watched as Dominique knocked on Gabriella's office door. Gabriella opened the door, and Dominique threw her arms around the librarian.

Gabriella is about seventeen years old and is very nice. She has blond curly hair, and brown eyes. She has to wear spectacles, but that's okay. She says they make her look old and ugly. I think they make her look intelligent and sophisticated. She won't listen to me, though. Few people do.

She lives with the old librarian, who has a room in the back of the building. The librarian, whose name I don't know, is very old, and so she can't take care of the library anymore. Gabriella does the work instead.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Gabriella asked pleasantly. She always talks like that. She uses big words and sentences that have funny meanings. She often has to explain them to us. Fortunately, I have heard that phrase before.

"This," I said, holding up the package.

"Did someone send Dominique a birthday present?" Gabriella asked.

"It's addressed to charity," Dominique said. "I know because I read it." She stood up straight. Her face glowed with pride.

She's only just beginning to learn to read and write, and she's very proud of her accomplishments. Actually, she reads almost as good as I do. Then again, she also enjoys reading a lot more than I do.

"Here," she offered. "I'll prove it." Gabriella sat down and Dominique sat down beside her. She read, "To, Mademoiselle Charity, who's lies-"

"Who lives," Gabriella corrected.

"Who lives in the old warehouse with her sister." Dominique finished. It took her several long minutes to read it, but she was proud of being able to do so. She says that she wants to be just like Gabriella when she grows up.

"Why don't we open it, then?" Gabriella suggested. I sat down and nodded. She handed me a pair of scissors. "You should do the honors," she said. "Since it's addressed to you."

"Okay," I agreed. I took the package and picked up the scissors.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. I promised you a third story, and here it is. If you have any suspicions about the origin of Charity and Dominique's parents, please keep it to yourself. I don't want to answer questions about the parents until the story is well established. Review, please!**


	2. The Manuscript

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 2- Dominique

**August 12, 1887**

Charity held the scissors in one hand and the package in the other. Slowly, she used the scissors to open the package and remove the brown wrapping paper. When she removed the paper, I saw it.

It was a book, and it was bound with black leather. I wanted so much to hold it, but I knew that it was meant for Charity. My fingers itched to stroke the leather binding, and to open the cover and read the dedication. Then I wanted to turn the page and read the first chapter. But I restrained myself.

Charity just sat there, holding the book and staring at it dumbly. She seemed as though she were in a trance. I almost expected her to start clucking like a chicken.

"Well," I said. "Open it. I want to see what's inside."

Charity looked up and nodded. Slowly, almost painfully, she opened the book. "Oh, my gosh," Charity murmured. She sounded shocked.

Gabriella gently removed the book from Charity's hands. She read it, and then she gasped.

"What? What is it? Let me see!" I exclaimed. I grabbed the book from Gabriella. Before she could stop me, I read what it said in the dedication: **_To my darling daughter, with all the love my heart contains, Daddy_**. I gasped, and then choked on a sob. Daddy? My Daddy? He's alive? The thought is too beautiful to be real.

I never knew my parents. Charity used to talk about them, but when she saw how upset it made me, she stopped. She said that Daddy went away before I was born. I already knew what happened to Mother. I call her Mother because I never really knew her. It's my fault that she's dead, now. If I had never been born, she would never have died.

Charity says that if it's anyone's fault, it's Daddy's. I don't know why she says that, and she never explains what she means by it. I'm suspicious that she's lying to me.

"It's from Daddy!" I exclaimed. "Daddy's alive! He knows where we are!"

"Or it's someone who knows about us and is playing a practical joke on us," Charity said. Why does she always have to be a party-pooper?

"I think that it might really be from your father, Charity," Gabriella said.

"I concur," I agreed. I was trying out my word of the month.

Every month, Gabriella gives me a word, and she explains its' meaning. Then she tells me to record how many times in the month I say that word. This month, the word is 'concur'.

I flipped through the book. "Hey!" I exclaimed. "This isn't a book. It's got lots of funny symbols in it." I showed it to Gabriella.

"It's a musical manuscript," she said, handing it back to me.

"What's that?" I asked.

"It's like a book," she explained. "But each symbol represents a note. It's for a piano."

"Oh," I said, still not entirely sure that I understood.

I flipped through it until I reached the end. There, it said, **_Charity, tell your brother or sister that I love them too. I may not have yet had the chance to meet them, but I love them just as much as I love you. I want them to know that._**

"Daddy loves me, too!" I exclaimed.

"What are you talking about?" Charity asked, lifting her head off the table. She had put it down after Gabriella had taken the manuscript from her.

"Look," I pointed to the spot and showed it to her. Her face turned white as a sheet.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Look at the initials at the bottom," she said. I took the manuscript back from her and looked. The initials were, **_A.O.M._**

"So?" I asked. "Why does it make you look like you saw a ghost?"

"Because," she said. I tried to ask her about it again, but she wouldn't answer my questions.

"Let her be," Gabriella advised me. I nodded.

Gabriella went to the kitchen that was just off of the main room. I heard her preparing something. I left Charity where she was and went over to the kitchen. Gabriella had put a teapot on the stove and was preparing something in a bowl.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I am making some tea for you and Charity," she replied.

I watched her for a time before realizing something. She seemed to be distracted. The movements that she made were done as though she really wasn't paying attention to what she was doing. "You know what the initials mean, don't you?" I asked.

Gabriella sighed heavily and put down the container of honey. "Yes," she sighed again. "Yes, I know what the initials mean. But I can't tell you."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I promised your mother that if you ever came across those initials, that I wouldn't tell you," she replied. "Not you, and not your sister. Although, I have a feeling that Charity already has a pretty good idea what they mean."

"Well, I know that if my mother were here, she would want me to know," I said angrily. "She would tell me, and she would tell Charity, and she would be very, very mad at you for not telling us!" I was practically yelling.

Gabriella waited a moment. Then she said, "Are you through, yet?"

"No!" I snapped. "I'm not through!" I raised my voice to an even higher note. "You always say that my mom and dad wouldn't want me to know this, and wouldn't want me to know that, and yet Charity seems to know these things. How come she can know them, but I can't? Huh? How come?" Tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall.

"That's because Charity actually knew your parents," Gabriella said softly. "Your mother died right after giving birth to you, and your father," her voice trailed away. "Well, your father disappeared before you were born."

I gasped, as though she had struck me. "I see," I said, my voice shaking. The tears trickled down my cheeks, and I brushed them away angrily. "Well, now that I know how you feel, I don't think I will be returning for my lessons." I turned and fled the kitchen.

I grabbed Charity by the arm and half dragged her out the door. I pulled her along beside me as I jogged down the street. As I passed the police station, I heard a sound coming from a grate that was placed in the stone stairs.

It sounded as though someone was being hurt. There were screams and someone was yelling at the owner of the screams to shut up. Charity stopped, and listened. I tried to get her to keep moving. The screams were sending chills down my spine.

"Listen," she said. I did. Then I realized that the person was just screaming. They were screaming words.

"Shut up!" Yelled a male voice.

"Let me out!" Screamed the other person. They sounded male as well. They must have been a prisoner. "Please! Release me! I must find them! I have to find them!" The man screamed with all his might.

"Shut up, you monstrosity!" The first man screamed, and there was the sound of metal hitting something solid. Then there was silence.

I shuddered and let Charity lead me away from the police station. We walked the rest of the way home in silence.

I wonder who that man was, and why he was screaming. Perhaps something will turn up and answer my question. I should probably put my pencil down. It's getting late, and if Charity finds out that I stayed up late to write, she'll be furious.

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long to write the second chapter. I've had a cold all week, and I was grounded for two days, so I didn't have much time for writing. I've been resting, and drinking tea all week. But I hope you liked that chapter. I sincerely hope it was worth the wait. If not, then I'll just have to write a better chapter next.**


	3. Fifi

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 3- Dominique

**August 13, 1887**

Charity left for the market early this morning. Before she left, she told me to stay out of sight of the windows.

I sat in the middle of the warehouse, trying to put my feet behind my head for about an hour before I admitted defeat. I was totally and completely bored. It was one of the few times when I didn't feel like practicing my reading. But maybe that was just because of the fight that Gabriella and I had yesterday.

I regret my words to her. She's a great teacher, and I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt me. All the same, she did hurt me, and I don't know if I can ever get over it.

Huh. It's funny, you know, that sometimes, you can hate a person so much, and yet you now you can't trust anyone else but them when you have a dark secret.

My secret is that I think the manuscript (A big word. I hope I spelled it right) has a clue as to where to find our father. That's why I took it out to look at it today.

I rummaged among Charity's things until I found it. I pulled it out and placed it on my lap. I stroked the binding the way I do for every book that I read. Only, this one is even more special, because it came from my father.

I opened it up to the part where it said how much he loved me. I ran my finger over the lettering, whispering the words until I had them memorized.

If there is one thing that I wanted to know, it would be where my father was. I know my mother died when I was born. I still can't forgive myself for that. The wound is deep, and the blade of pain is stuck. Sometimes I feel that if I were to pull out the blade, and reveal my fears to everyone, then I would bleed to death.

I put the manuscript away and replaced Charity's things in the exact spots where I had found them. I didn't want her to know I had gone through her things.

I was just about to try putting my legs behind my head when I heard a whimpering sound. It was coming from the other side of the warehouse. I stood up slowly and crept over to the other side. I peered over some empty crates, and I gasped at what I saw.

There, huddled in a corner and curled up in a ball, was a little puppy. It whimpered piteously when it saw me. It looked up at me sadly with its big brown eyes.

"You poor thing," I murmured, and I gently picked her up. As I did, I saw that she had only three legs. The fourth was nothing but a stump. Gently and carefully, I carried the little dog over the crates and back to where I had been sitting earlier.

I set her down on my lap and carefully examined her stubby leg. It looked as though it had been sawed off by something extremely sharp. But the wound also looked like it was very old. It had probably happened a long time ago, most likely close to right after the pup was born.

The puppy was very cute. She had big, floppy, ears, and a black nose. She snuffled my hand with her wet nose, and I giggled. She also had big, brown eyes that looked up at me with sadness. I suppose it had to do with losing her leg. Perhaps she is an orphan, like me.

"I'm going to name you Fifi," I told the little dog. She barked happily in reply and licked my face. I laughed, and got doggy slobber in my mouth. "Ew!" I exclaimed. "Yuck!"

I picked up Fifi and set her down on the floor. Then I went through Charity's things again to see if I could find something edible.

My search was finally rewarded with a old, crusty, piece of bread. I gave it to Fifi. She sniffed it, and then turned her head away.

"Come on, girl," I said. "You have to eat something." I waved the piece f bread under her nose. "Mmm," I said. "Old bread." Then I played back my words in my head. "Wait," I mused aloud, "that doesn't sound appetizing at all." I shook my head and tried again to coax Fifi into eating the piece of bread.

"Now I know how the nuns feel at the orphanage," I muttered. "Come on, Fifi, come on." I coaxed.

Fifi sniffed the bread again, and then began to munch on it grudgingly. While she ate, I went to look for something that I could give her to drink. I saw that Charity's water canteen was nearly full. She likes to conserve water, and has more than once given me some of hers because I had run out.

"I don't think Charity will mind if I give you some of her water," I said to Fifi. She barked and wagged her tail. Then she began to follow me around the warehouse as I searched for a container to put the water in.

I looked behind crates, and I even climbed the ladder that led up into the second story. I didn't find anything in the first room I came to, but in the second, I saw an old wooden bowl.

"This should do," I said, and picked up the bowl.

Suddenly, a spider jumped out from underneath the bowl. I screamed, and Fifi barked. She jumped up onto the table and pounced on the spider. She batted it with her paw until it was lying on its back. Then she pulled of the legs one by one with her teeth and munched on them happily.

"Eww!" I said out loud. Fifi barked and looked at me with her tail wagging.

Then she picked up the rest of the spider in her mouth and jumped down off of the desk she had been standing on. She put her paws on my leg and held the remains of the wriggling spider out to me.

"No thanks," I said, lifting my hands up in defense and taking a step back. "You can keep it."

She didn't move. But when she saw that I wasn't going to take the spider, she threw it up in the air and caught it in her mouth. She chewed on it happily. I almost expected her to say, 'More for me,' when I refused the spider.

After Fifi was finished with her spider snack, we came back down the stairs and I filled the little wooden bowl with some of Charity's water. Then I set it down on the ground for Fifi. She came up to the bowl and sniffed the water. Then she began to lap it up.

I sat down on the floor and pulled out my book. I began to read about some ugly duck that wanted to be a swan, or something like that. I read the story aloud.

When she had finished her water, Fifi came up to me and barked plaintively. She snuffled my arm, and stuck her head underneath it. She lay her head on my lap and closed her eyes.

I read the story several times over. Then I saw something that made me laugh. Fifi must have been dreaming, because her leg was kicking up in the air while she slept. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen!

I laughed out loud and the noise woke Fifi, who lifted her wet nose to my face. She licked my mouth and slobbered all over me so that I fell onto my back, laughing hysterically. I finally pushed her off of me.

I held her in my arms and rocked her. Her eyes grew droopy and she closed them. One of her long ears was draped across my arm, and her left hind paw was draped across my other arm.

I smiled at the cute puppy. Then I began to read the story about the duckling again. The story was very sad, but I had read it before, so I didn't cry or anything.

Charity hasn't come home yet. I'm starting to get worried. If she's not home soon, I'll go get Gabriella to help me find her.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. I hope it was better, or as good as, the previous chapter. Please review, and let me know what you think. No flames, please.**


	4. Cell Division

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 4- Charity

**August 16, 1887**

I only have a short time to write this. If I'm caught, I'll be in big trouble. I have to write what has happened to me in the past few days.

I went to see Philippe three days ago. He was trying to sell some not-so-ripe fruit to an old woman.

"I assure you, Madame, that these are the finest in all of Paris," he assured the woman. She didn't listen, and passed him by.

Then he saw me. "Ah! Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Charity," he greeted me.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," I replied. "You wouldn't happen to have any fruit that you didn't want, would you?" I asked. Then I added, "Fruit that's not rotten, of course."

"Of course," he said. He handed me a basket of bread.

"That's bread," I said.

"The fruits of my wife's labor," he said.

He was trying to crack a joke. I smiled feebly, but I took the basket. I wasn't going to complain. It was rare that we received a basket of bread.

I left the market and headed back to the warehouse where Dominique and I live. All of a sudden, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"And just where do you think you're going, little girl?" A male voice asked.

I turned around and looked up into the face of a policeman. He had an angular face, and his eyes were set close together. His nose was long and thin, and he was altogether ugly. His eyes were boring brown, and his hair was brown, too, but graying in places. He had a balding head.

I turned my eyes down and looked at the ground. I peeked up at the policeman through a black curl.

"Je vais à la maison de ma grandmère," I said timidly.

"You think I haven't heard that excuse before, kid?" He asked, and leaned down to look me in the eye. He happened to be very tall. "Nearly every run-away I've met has said, 'I'm going to grandma's house.'" He sneered.

Then he grabbed my arm. "Hey!" He exclaimed. "I recognize you! You're that kid who stole a loaf of bread the other day."

"No, I'm not," I contradicted him.

"Yes, you are," he replied. "And you know what happens to little thieves?" He asked menacingly.

"No, and I don't care." I spit in his face. He wiped the spit from his face with the hand that wasn't tightly clamped onto my wrist.

"You should," he replied. "Truants like yourself are sent to prison. If no one comes to the police station to claim you, you get sent to the orphanage." He smiled cruelly at me, exposing his teeth.

I must have had a shocked look on my face, because he said then, "Don't worry. You'll get your very own cell, and two meals a day. Your meals will consist of a piece of bread, and a bowl of stew. You will be allowed to have one item to keep you busy."

He cuffed my hands behind my back and dragged me along several blocks before reaching a police carriage. He shoved me into the cab, and climbed in after me. Then he told his partner, who was sitting in the driver's box, to drive.

I stared out the window as the horses pulling the carriage clomped along the cobblestone streets. I could hear the clip, clop of their hooves from inside the cab.

People glanced at the carriage as we passed them. Some called out things that I do not care to repeat. To put it bluntly, they swore at me and one person threw a fruit at the cab.

When that happened, the driver stopped the carriage, and got off. He yelled at the man who had thrown the fruit, and threatened to arrest him with charges of harassing policemen on duty.

The man apologized for throwing the fruit, and the driver returned to his seat. He started the carriage once more, and we were on our way.

We reached the police station soon afterwards. The policeman who had found me took me by the arm and helped me out of the cab. He led me through the front doors of the police station.

Inside, there was another policeman sitting behind a desk. He had his feet up on the desk, and he was smoking a cigar. He was broad-shouldered, had blond hair, and hazel eyes. His hair was arranged to meet the style, and he was actually very good looking.

"How many times have I told you that you can't smoke in here?" The policeman who had arrested me asked.

"Relax, Purée," the man said to the policeman that had arrested me.

"That's Constable Purée to you, Dudley," the Constable corrected.

The man, Dudley, stood up and pulled his cigar out of his mouth. "Come on, Constable," he said, "lighten up. It's only a cigar. It's not like it's going to kill me. Or you, for that matter." He folded his arms over his chest. The thin Constable was taller than Dudley, but Dudley looked much stronger.

Then Dudley noticed me. "Who's the kid?" he asked, jerking his head in my direction.

"A truant," Constable Purée replied. "I found her near the poorest district in the city. She probably lived there in one of those filthy warehouses."

"I'm not a truant," I corrected, folding my arms across my chest. "I'm a person, and I deserve to be treated with civility and respect." I raised my chin proudly.

"Would you look at that!" Exclaimed the Constable, elbowing Dudley. "She thinks she's important, or something." He laughed. Dudley just stood there, looking at me. He seemed to me examining me. It made me nervous.

But I had, and still have, more important things to worry about. Like how I was going to get out of the situation I had fallen into, and how I was going to find Dominique before the police decided to check the warehouses.

"I am important!" I insisted. "Every person on this earth is important!" I glared at the Constable.

The Constable clapped Dudley on the back. He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and said, "Officer Dudley, take her to an empty cell. There's one near the monster. Let's see if she can go for a week without screaming in terror." He roared laughter.

Officer Dudley led me to a wooden door. He took me down a flight of slippery steps, and through another wooden door. This one led to a darkened hall. It was lit every couple of meters with a torch.

He stopped in front of a cell that looked just like the rest. He pulled a key out from his pocket and slipped it into the keyhole. He turned the key, and pushed the door. It swung inward.

He led me into the cell, and uncuffed my hands. I rubbed my wrists. He left the cell, and swung the door closed behind him.

"Wait!" I called. I heard a shuffling coming from the cell to the right. Dudley turned and looked at me. "I was told I could get one ting to keep me busy."

"That's right." Dudley replied. "I was just about to get it. Although, I suppose you aren't going to be amused by cards." I shook my head. I have no idea what cards are, so I didn't think I would be mused by them.

"I would like some paper and a pencil," I said.

"You can write?" Dudley asked incredulously.

I nodded. "And read."

"Who taught you?" He asked.

"One of the few adults that I trust," I replied evasively.

Dudley shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "I'll bring you the paper and pencil." Then he left.

**A/N: I hope you liked that! Wow! Charity got arrested. Oh, just so everyone knows, I made Charity a few years older than before. It just seemed as though she was too young. So, she's fifteen now instead of thirteen. I'm going to make the changes to the first chapter so it will be officially in the story.**


	5. What To Do?

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 5- Dominique

**August 14, 1887**

I'm terrified. Charity is missing, and I don't know where to find her. At first, I thought that she was still shopping. But as it got later and later in the day, I knew something was wrong. The only logical thing to do was to go and see Gabriella. So that's what I did.

When I arrived, Gabriella greeted me as though our little fight had never happened. She sat down in one of the armchairs that are dotted around the library. They're meant for people who would like to read a book at the library, but few people use them. They prefer to either not come to the library at all, or just take the book home with them.

"Are you ready for your reading lesson?" She asked me.

"I didn't come to read," I said. "I came to ask for your help." Then I burst into tears. Gabriella wrapped her arms around me and held me on her lap. She rocked back and forth and allowed me to cry on her shoulder. I probably ruined her dress.

"What's the matter, Honey?" Gabriella asked me once I'd calmed down a bit. I gulped for air and wiped the tears from my eyes.

"Charity is missing, and I'm scared," I whimpered.

"She's missing?" Gabriella asked incredulously. "How?"

"I don't know!" I exclaimed, and tears started to trickle down my cheeks again. "I was just waiting at home for her, and she never showed up." I sniffled, and Gabriella pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket. She held it to my nose.

"Blow," she instructed. I blew my nose and it made a funny honking sound in the handkerchief.

"She would have shown up by now," I said. "We have to find her!"

"Shush," Gabriella said to me softly. "We will find her. There's only one of two logical places that she could be."

"Where?" I asked eagerly.

"One: She is at the orphanage and all we have to do is go there and pick her up." She took a deep breath before continuing. "Or," she said. "Charity is at the police station, and we have to find someone who is a legal adult relative, or guardian."

"But we don't have any adult relatives, or any guardians," I protested.

"That's the problem," Gabriella said. She made me get off of her lap so she could stand up. She paced around the bookshelves.

"Why don't we start with the orphanage?" I asked.

"We would have to stop off somewhere else first," Gabriella replied. She tucked her curly black hair behind her ears. It stuck out anyway and framed her dark face.

"Where?" I asked.

"To my uncle's house," she replied. "He happens to very kind, and very rich. He can help us with getting Charity out of orphanage."

"What if she's in jail?" I said.

"Then he can help us with getting her out of jail," Gabriella said matter-of-factly.

"Why would he be so eager to help us?" I asked.

"Because," Gabriella replied, "He knew your parents, and he would be more than happy to help. In fact, your father used to work for him."

"He did?" I jumped up with an eager expression on my face.

"Yes," Gabriella said, distracted.

"That's great!" I exclaimed. "He can tell me who my father is, and where he is!" I sat back down, but then stood up again. "This is so great," I said. "This is so great," I repeated.

"Now, wait a minute," Gabriella said. "You can't just bug my uncle about your father. I realize that you want very much to know where he is, but my uncle is a very serious man, and he doesn't like to be bothered."

"But it's for a very good cause," I said. "It's so I can find my father, and me and Charity can be reunited with him." I looked up at Gabriella hopefully. She shook her head.

"He is the one that chooses what question are good enough, or interesting enough, to answer," she said. "I wish there was another way, but there isn't." She sighed heavily and went to grab her scarf to protect against the chill of spring.

I waited for Gabriella outside with Fifi. The little dog was prancing around my legs and yipping excitedly. She could tell that something important was going to happen.

When Gabriella finally came outside, she shielded her eyes from the sunlight. It was very bright outside, but the air was quite chilly. She wrapped her scarf around herself more tightly, and took my hand.

As we walked through the crowded streets, I noticed that the people around us were becoming more and more beautifully dressed. The gorgeous outfits that the ladies wore made me halt and stare at them in wonder. But a moment later, Gabriella tugged my hand and we were walking again. I still stared at the beautiful gowns, though.

Although, I think that if I had to wear a headdress like that, I know I'd topple over from the weight. It amazes me that the fancy-dressed ladies don't fall over onto each other like a stack of dominoes.

After about twenty minutes of walking, we reached a long grove of trees. I think they were spruce, but I'm not sure. They lined a long driveway on either side, and beyond I could see something very white.

Gabriella led me down the long driveway, and into the area of white. It wasn't an area of white, really. It was actually just a big mansion that was painted white. All around it were flower gardens with beautiful flowers surrounding everything. In one corner, I could see a particular garden of lilies. Lilies are my favorite flower. But before I could say anything, Gabriella was pulling me to the door.

Gabriella rang the bell, and waited with me. I pulled my hand away from hers and brushed myself off. I didn't want to seem slovenly, although I was sure that it couldn't be helped.

A man in a black suit opened the door. He had graying hair, and a weary look upon his face. But when he saw Gabriella, a broad grin spread across his slightly wrinkled face.

"Lynaea!" He exclaimed. "How are you?" He reached out his arms, and Gabriella embraced him.

"It's not Lynaea anymore, remember?" Gabriella said.

"Oh, right," the man said, and he winked at me. "And who's this?" He asked, bending down to look at me.

"None of your B.I. Business," I said snobbishly.

"Dominique!" Gabriella exclaimed. "Apologize this instant!"

"Sorry," I mumbled. I avoided his gaze.

The man stood up and groaned. He clicked his tongue. "Rebellious. Just like her mother."

I raised my head at his words. "You knew my mother?" I asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gabriella shaking her head and giving the man a pointed look. "Uh, no," the man said nervously, looking at Gabriella for a moment before turning to me. "I've only heard things about her."

"We're here to see my uncle, Jacques," Gabriella interrupted.

"Of course," the man named Jacques said. "Right this way." He opened the door and I followed Gabriella into a big hallway. Jacques went ahead of us and led the way through the maze of corridors. As he did, my heart began to race. **_Maybe this man will know where my father is_**, I thought.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. Yes, I know you must be dieing to ask all kinds of questions about Gabriella, and her uncle, and the man who answered the door. All questions will be answered in due time. Please to not ask them in your reviews, because then I will be compelled to answer them before I should, and that would ruin the story.**


	6. Henri

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 6- Dominique

**August 15, 1887**

Jacques led us through some more corridors before we at last entered a large parlor. Seated on a plush armchair was a dark-skinned man with curly, black hair. It was graying in places, and his skin was all wrinkled. He had white eyes.

"Lynaea!" Exclaimed the man. He stood up and embraced Gabriella.

"Uncle!" She exclaimed. She returned his embrace. "How are you?"

"Oh, I've been better," the man replied. "Please, sit down." He gestured to another chair. Gabriella sat down and beckoned me over.

"Uncle," she said. "This is Dominique. You must remember her. Her father was the one who, well, you know." She smiled down at me, and I realized that she knew exactly who my father is, and possibly where he is.

"I think I remember you," Gabriella's uncle said to me. "You're the littlest, aren't you?" He asked. I nodded.

"Do you know who my father is?" I asked suddenly.

"Dominique!" Gabriella said harshly. I flinched. "I told you not to bother my uncle with that."

Gabriella's uncle waved his hand dismissively. "That's alright," he said. "I don't mind." He turned to me. I realized then that he wasn't blind the way I had first thought. "Yes," he said. "I know who he is."

"Will you tell me?" I asked eagerly. "Please? I'll do almost anything."

"How does she know her father isn't dead?" Gabriella's uncle asked her.

"She and her sister received a package from their father," Gabriella replied.

"I thought they didn't allow the tenants to mail things," her uncle mused aloud. "Oh, well. What can I do for you?" He asked Gabriella.

"We need your help," Gabriella said. "Charity is missing. We have determined that the only logical places she could be are the orphanage or prison. Since she's fifteen, I suspect that she's in jail, but I could be wrong." She sighed.

"Well, I can tell you for a fact that she's not at the orphanage," her uncle said. "I was there giving a presentation to some of the smaller orphans a just this morning."

He beckoned to a nearby maid. She came up to him and bent low so she could hear what he was saying. She nodded as he whispered something in her ear, and then she beckoned to me.

"Maria here can fix you a hot bath and get you a change of clothes," Gabriella's uncle said. "I believe that there's still some left from when Lynaea was little."

"Who's Lynaea?" I asked.

"My niece," Gabriella's uncle said matter-of-factly, pointing to Gabriella.

"That's Gabriella," I said.

"Oh, that's right," her uncle said. "I forgot that she changed her name." He smiled.

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, but I followed Maria into the corridor and up a flight of stairs. The stairs took us to a second level where Maria showed me a room that was already prepared with everything that I would need.

There was a bed in one corner with a little end table sitting beside it. Across from the bed were a couple of closet doors. Maria opened them and I saw a long row of dresses lined up. They were all neatly pressed and waiting to be worn. It seemed a little too perfect. But as soon as Maria had prepared the bath, I relinquished my suspicion, and climbed into the warm, soapy water.

As I scrubbed away at years of grime (you must remember that Charity and I are orphans, and we don't have the luxury of a daily bath), I thought about how I might be able to get Charity out of jail.

One thought I had was that maybe Gabriella's uncle could pay for Charity to get out. If he had enough money, and was willing to give a lot of it up, then the policemen would be sure to release her. I nodded; satisfied that it was a good plan. Most people can be made to do what you want if you have enough money, and the right connections. The only problem with the plan was that it depended an awful lot upon Gabriella's uncle.

I sighed and climbed out of the tub, finally clean. I wrapped myself in the towel that Maria held out to me. My skin was now a healthy pink, instead of a dirty brown, and my hair was no longer a dirty blond color, but a pale yellow. In fact, my hair was so blond that it was nearly white. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn't recognize the person looking back at me. The only familiar thing about my face was that my eyes were still the same piercing emerald green.

"You'll look almost like royalty when I'm through with you, Miss," Maria said. She had an English accent. I wondered why she was in Paris if she was from England.

"I hope not," I said. "I hear that royalty have to wear corsets and stiff collars. I don't want to wear something that's that uncomfortable." I tightened the towel.

Maria laughed at that comment. "I didn't mean that you'd be all prim and proper, Miss," she said good-naturedly. "I only meant that you'd be as beautiful as a princess." She smiled and added, "Without the discomfort, mind you."

She bent down in the closet and began rummaging through the dresses. "I believe," she said, "That with your coloring, and hair, that you're a summer."

"What does that mean?" I asked, sitting down on the canopy bed. It was so soft that I sank several inches into the blanket. My wet hair clung to my back.

"It means that any color you find in nature during summer is a color that will look good on you," Maria replied.

She had her head stuck in the closet, and she was bent over at the waist. Her butt was sticking in the air, and each time she tried to find something else, it would waggle. It made me giggle, but she didn't seem to notice. Finally, she pulled out a dress that made me gape.

"How's this, Miss?" She asked, holding up the most beautiful garment I have ever laid eyes on. I stood up and nearly dropped my towel in amazement and shock.

The dress was a deep, rich blue color, like the sky is just after the sun has finished setting, and the skirt had a design of feathers embroidered with beads and gold thread all over it. The feathers were of a kind that I had never seen before. It looked as though there was an eye in each one, and they were made with a combination of blues, greens, and a sprinkling of gold. Behind the pattern of feathers was a pattern of tiny stars stitched in with silver thread.

The bodice of the dress was very low cut, but there was a camisole stitched on underneath, and it covered anything that would have shown. The camisole was of a silvery white color, and it seemed to sparkle when the dress moved. The sleeves were perfectly straight until they came to the elbow, where they flowed outward like a couple of waterfalls. All in all, the dress was gorgeous. And it was much too fancy for me.

"Absolutely not," I said vehemently.

"Why not, Miss?" Maria asked. "It's the most beautiful dress of the lot. It would look stunning on you."

"That's my point," I said. "The dress would look stunning; I would not." I shook my head. "There's no way I'm going to risk dirtying the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen in my entire life," I said. The dress really was beautiful, though.

"Please, Miss?" Maria asked. "For me?" I barely knew the young woman. Why would I do her a favor?

I rolled my eyes and snatched the dress. I ran my fingers over the beads of one of the feathers. "Alright," I said. "You talked me into it."

Maria smiled knowingly and helped me into the dress. When I finally stood in front of the mirror with the dress on, I knew that the person looking back at me was not me. The person in the mirror would be something akin to a goddess, not a princess. But maybe that's just the dress. It's definitely just the dress.

Maria took some hairpins out of a drawer. She came to stand behind me. She combed out my hair and used a towel to dry it until it fell onto my shoulders in. It was perfectly straight.

Maria then gathered my hair (which was down to the middle of my back) and neatly trimmed the edges so it wouldn't look so ratty. Then she took a large piece of my hair (AKA: Half of it) and began to braid it. Once she had braided it, she wound it up on the top of my head and pinned it in with one of the hairpins. Then she took the rest of my hair and braided it, wound it up on the top of my head, and pinned it in place.

When next I looked in the mirror, I was beautiful.

"There you go, Miss." Maria said. "Now you look like a princess."

**A/N: I hope you liked that! Please review and let me know what you think! (It was peacock feathers that were on the dress.) Oh, and this should make up for how short chapter seven is.**


	7. The Phantom of the Opera

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 7- Charity

**August 17, 1887**

After Dudley left, I tucked my knees up against my chest and sat in a corner of my cell. I have never felt so alone as I did at that moment. A tear trickled down my cheek and I heard it plop on the ground between my legs. I sniffled and whimpered a little.

Then, all of a sudden, I heard a sound. It was coming from the cell to my right. I looked up and saw half a face peering at me through the dimness. The one eye was green, and shone with a brightness that frightened me.

"Who's there?" I asked shakily. "Who are you?"

"I don't remember," the face said. The voice was raspy, as though it had worn itself out. I thought of the voice screaming to be let out. Then, I heard the man (for he was obviously a man) whisper to himself, "I remember who I was, but not who I am." The green eye closed. I saw the faint glimmer of its companion.

"Who were you, then?" I asked. The eye opened. Despair was within its depths.

"The Phantom of the Opera," came the reply. The eye closed again.

I gasped. I had heard of the Phantom of the Opera. Who hadn't? He had been said to be an infamous villain who had kidnapped a young woman in hopes that she would love him. He was also said to be deformed.

"So you've heard of me," the Phantom chuckled.

"Everyone has heard of the Phantom of the Opera," I said. "But I don't think I've heard of you."

"Aren't you smart?" He asked rhetorically.

"So I'm told," I replied sarcastically. The Phantom chuckled again.

"What's your name?" He asked me. His head was leaning against the stone wall behind him.

"It doesn't matter," I replied. "I'm going to be out of here in a little while anyway."

"Why's that?" The Phantom asked.

"Because I'm going to break out of here as soon as that moron comes back with the paper," I replied.

"Break out?" The Phantom said. "Don't you think I've tried that already? You can't break out of here. It's too tight."

"Maybe for you," I said, "but I'm still only fifteen. I can still get out. They underestimate me because I'm a kid, but they will regret it when I get out." I set my mouth in a grim, hard, line.

"For everyone," he said. Then I heard whisper to himself, "Oh, Rebecca, where are you?

"Who's Rebecca?" I asked.

"My wife," the Phantom replied. "Although, I think that she is no longer on this earth."

"You mean she's dead?" I asked. He nodded. Then he moved completely into the light. I saw his deformity. The right side of his face was all twisted and melted. It was red in some places, and in others it was a yellowish white color.

"I'm hideous, aren't I?" He asked

"Actually, once the surprise is over, it's not that bad," I said honestly. That sent the Phantom roaring laughter. He laughed. Then, he stopped suddenly and looked at me. His face hovered close to the bars.

"You know, you remind me of my little girl," he said.

"You have a daughter?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "Although she's probably in the orphanage with her younger sibling." He sighed and retreated into the complete darkness of his cell.

"Don't you know whether she has a sister or brother?" I asked, coming closer to the bars.

"No," he said. "I was wrongly accused of murder and placed in jail for the rest of my life before my little baby was born." Then he looked me directly in the eye. "Where is your family?" He asked.

"My only family is my little sister, and Gabriella," I said.

"Gabriella?" He asked.

"She's a librarian," I told him. "She taught myself and my sister how to read." I sighed. "I hope Dominique is okay," I mused aloud. That was a mistake.

"Dominique?" The Phantom asked from his corner. He had had his eyes closed, but he had opened them when I mentioned Dominique.

"My sister," I said. Why did I say that? It was stupid. I should have lied.

All of a sudden, Officer Dudley returned with the paper and a pencil. He handed it to me through the bars. As I took it, I tried to hit Dudley, but I was too slow, and he stepped back.

"Is that how you thank me for trying to get you some paper and a pencil?" He demanded. "Well, that's the last time I do something nice for you!" He turned and stomped back up the stairs. When I heard the door close, I chuckled softly.

"Idiot," I said, and lightly shook the ring of keys that I had pulled from his belt. They jangled softly "Never underestimate a professional pickpocket." I laughed. Then I tucked the keys among some of the folds of my raggedy dress, where they would make the least amount of noise possible.

"Well, well," the Phantom chuckled, "it looks as though I underestimated you as well. What do you say we break out?"

"Now?" I scoffed.

"Why not?" The Phantom replied. "Now is as good a time as any." I saw him shrug indifferently.

"No," I said vehemently, shaking my head. "You don't break out when they're right upstairs. You break out when it's dark, and the guards are tired and bored. That's when they least expect you something to happen." I shook my head again. "Some people don't know anything about the real world," I muttered to myself. "Obviously, you've never tried to break out, have you?" I asked.

"If I had, they would have hung me," the Phantom said. "But you're right. We should break out under cover of darkness. That way, they won't see us."

"Now you understand," I said a little more snottily than I was necessary.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" the Phantom asked quietly.

"If I hadn't," I replied just as quietly, "I would still be in the orphanage being ordered about by a bunch of well-meaning nuns who hate kids, and not here discussing escape tactics with a man who probably doesn't know the difference between a cell key and a padlock key."

"You lived in the orphanage?" He asked, ignoring the comment I had made about the keys.

"Until I was thirteen," I replied. I decided to ignore him until it was time to escape.

I curled up into a ball and decided to get some rest. The light outside was becoming dim, and the sounds of people were becoming less and less frequent. I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

He seemed to ask a lot of questions. Not all of them were wanted. Why did I answer them? No matter, I won't worry about it now.

**A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter. I hope you liked it anyways. Please review and let me know what you think! I promise the next one will be a bit longer.**


	8. Comforts

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 8- Dominique

**August 15, 1887**

I gazed at my reflection for several long moments before turning to Maria. She was standing beside me, wiping her hands on her apron to get rid of the hair spray and makeup that was left on them.

"You look beautiful, Miss," Maria complimented me. She was right. If the person who was looking back at me in the mirror really was me, then I did look beautiful.

My hair had been braided and then twisted into two different buns that intertwined on top of my head. Maria had put a little rouge on my cheeks- just enough so that my cheeks had a little glow to them- and she had put a little eye shadow on my eyelids. My dress was covered in beaded feathers made of greens and blues, and in the background, a pattern of tiny silver stars was stitched onto the skirt.

"I love the dress," I said. "Even though it is too fancy for me." I turned one way, then the other so I could look at the dress from more than one angle. The eye shadow that Maria had put on me had had sparkles in it, and the deep purple shade set off the green of my eyes.

"Nonsense," Maria scolded me. "The dress is perfect for you. Your mother had it made especially for you for when you were older. Your father thought she aught to wait until you were born, to make sure you were a girl, but your mother knew even before you were born that you would be a girl." She smiled down at me.

"You knew my mother and father?" I asked Maria eagerly.

"Yes," she replied. "Your father worked as the gardener for, oh, seven years, I think." She shook her head and her black curls bounced. "Your mother, there wasn't a soul alive who could tame that lioness," Maria chuckled. "Besides your father, of course," she added. "Only he could make her calm down. If only he had been with her when you were born. Then maybe she would still be here today." She shook her head sadly.

"What do you mean?" I asked her, sitting down in front of the vanity.

"Well," Maria said, beginning to play with my hair, "your mother loved your father very much. One day, your father gets a visit from some policemen. They say that he was being accused of murder, and he would have to go to court. They had an eye witness who said that your father had killed this one man."

She sighed again, and undid all my hair. She began to comb it through. "I knew for a fact that your father was innocent because at the time when it happened, he was with me. But, because I'm black, they didn't listen to me. They said I was just trying to make excuses."

Maria finished combing my hair and began to plait it into two long braids. "I did my best to help your father, I did," she said. "But I couldn't do much because I had to stay home and help take care of your mother. She was, oh, I don't know, I think eight and a half months pregnant with you when your father was tried, and found guilty of murder. Normally, the penalty for murder is death by either beheading, or hanging. But Miss Lynaea's Uncle Henry, he was able to pull some strings and make it so that your father could live."

She sighed. And began to twist my hair on top of my head again. "Your mother, now she didn't know about Master Henri doing that, so she went into labor with you early from worry. You were born and you were fat, and healthy, and that was good. But because your father wasn't there to hold your mama's hand, she felt sure that he was going to die. My reasoning for her dieing was because she lost the will to live. I don't think she thought it through very far. If she had, I'm sure she wouldn't have given up. She would have stayed with you and your sister, had she thought it through."

Maria patted me on the back. "You're all done, Miss," she said. "You can go downstairs and see Miss Lynaea again."

"Thank you," I said as I stood at the door.

"For what, Miss?" Maria asked me. I like her. She's so good-natured.

"For telling me about my father and mother," I replied. "Now I know that it wasn't my fault."

"Oh, Honey," Maria said, taking me in her arms and sitting down on the canopy bed with me on her lap, "it wasn't your fault. What ever made you think it was?"

"Well, I was always told that my mother died giving birth to me," I said. "It made me feel as though, if I weren't born, that my mother would still be alive." I sighed and rubbed my eye furiously. Maria took my hand and held it away from my eye.

"You don't want to ruin your makeup, Miss," she told me. Then she sighed. "It was never your fault, Hon," she said. "Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

I nodded. "Thank you," I said again. Then a thought came to me. "Why did Gabriella change her name?" I asked.

"Well," Maria said slowly, "that's a tough question to answer. I think it's because her daddy wasn't a very nice man, and she didn't want him to find her. He found her once when she was a teenager. You should have seen how she beat him up." Maria laughed. "Sorry," she said, seeing my look of horror.

"Why would she beat up her own father?" I asked, horrified.

"Well," Maria said, "Do you know what I mean when I talk about a grown man who, well, "loves" children?"

"No," I said.

"Do you know where babies come from?" Maria asked.

"No," I said again.

"I see," Maria mused aloud. "Well, then it would be very difficult to explain to you why she beat up her father. The point is, though, that Miss Lynaea doesn't want her father to find her again because he's a very bad man." Maria nodded with certainty. Then she made me get off of her lap.

"Now, you go downstairs and show Miss Gabriella and Monsieur Henri how pretty you look," she said, and she gently pushed me out the door.

I walked downstairs in a pair of high-heeled slippers. They were only a few centimeters off of the ground, but I still found it difficult to walk in them. Maria helped me down the stairs and led me to the parlor.

When I walked in, Gabriella was there talking to her uncle. Both of them had washed up and changed. Gabriella wore a red dress that had little silver stars stitched all over it. Her hair was left loose and hanging around her shoulders.

Her uncle, Henri, was wearing a black jacket and a black vest with a white shirt underneath and a dark blue lapel. His trousers were black, and so were his shoes.

"Wow!" Gabriella exclaimed. "You look beautiful!" She stood up and embraced me.

"Thank you," I said shyly. "You look beautiful, too."

"Thank you," she said, smiling and looking down at herself.

Then she led me to a plush armchair and I sat down. I sank two inches into the cushion. My feet stuck up in the air, and I felt silly. After feeling so pretty and important, it was a dramatic change.

"We have decided," Henri began, "that you should come with us when we go to the prison to get Charity."

"Good," I said. "Because, if you hadn't said I could go, I would have followed you anyway."

Henri laughed, and Gabriella gave a tight smile. She was afraid. I wondered why. Perhaps she was concerned for Charity, like I was. Or maybe there was another reason. There was something she wasn't telling me.

"We should get going, then," Gabriella said once her uncle had finished laughing. He nodded.

"You're right," he said. "The sooner we get going, the sooner we will be able to get Charity out of jail."

He stood up and led the way out of the house and into the outside air. I followed Gabriella into the carriage that awaited us. Seated in the driver's seat was Jacques. He nodded to me when I passed. I smiled briefly. As the carriage started to move, I thought about what Maria had said. Perhaps my father is in jail with my sister. That would make me very happy.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. I'm thinking that there may only be about ten to twelve chapters in this story. That's only because I can't think of another twist that I could use to make the story longer.**


	9. To Prison

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 9- Dominique

August 16, 1887 

I watched as the carriage drove through the streets of Paris. I prayed that my father was with my sister in the prison, and not in another prison. If they were together, then it would make things a whole lot easier for me.

Gabriella was seated beside me in the carriage, and her uncle Henri was across from us. He was staring out the window thoughtfully. I wondered what he was thinking. I thought that maybe he was thinking about Charity and my father, the same way I was.

Gabriella was looking at her uncle. Or at least, she seemed to be looking at him. Perhaps she was just thinking and didn't realize that she was staring. She blinked several times and refocused her eyes at the carriage wall.

The people on the streets were looking at the carriage and pointing in my direction. I shut the little window curtain. The people must have thought that I was a rich lady. Charity always said that I had the hair of a lady. She always thought that blond hair was a sign of wealth. I think that that is just stupid thinking.

The carriage stopped, and I heard Jacques calming them down. Henri opened the carriage door and jumped down. He held his hand out to Gabriella and helped her step out of the carriage. Then he held his hand out to me and helped me step out.

I straightened the sunbonnet that Maria had given me and looked up at the police station. It was a fairly large building made of boring grey stone. There were stone steps that led to the entrance, and the sign above the door said, **_Station de Police_**.

"Are you ready?" Gabriella asked me. I nodded, and let her take my hand. She helped me up the steep stairs. (It was very difficult to walk in the shoes that she had given me.) We stood in front of the closed doors for a moment before Gabriella's uncle opened the door.

I stepped inside the building and looked around. There wasn't much to see. There was a large wooden reception desk about ten feet in front of us, and sitting behind it was a man dressed in uniform. He had salt and pepper hair and a little bristle growing on his chin. He sat with his feet up on the desk, and the expression on his face was very bored. He looked up when Henri steeped a few feet closer.

"What can I do you for?" He asked, putting his feet down on the floor and sitting up straight. His boots had left a few dirt marks on the table, and he casually wiped them away with his hand.

"We are here to retrieve a person whom we believe you have found, and are keeping here," Henri said.

"Well, I'm not quite sure what you're talking about," the officer said, "but I can ask my partner when he comes back. He just left to deliver something to one of the prisoners." He gestured with his thumb to a large wooden door to the right. It looked old, and worn. I had a strong feeling that I would find Charity if I opened it.

"We can wait," Henri said, and he sat down in one of the wooden chairs that were laid out for visitors. Gabriella sat down beside him. I stayed standing.

I looked around at the bare, stone, walls, and at the plain wooden desk behind which the officer sat. He had put his feet back up on the table, and I could see streaks of dirt. In his hands, the officer held a book. He was reading it when a slightly younger officer with blond hair came into the room.

"That dang girl is such an annoyance!" He exclaimed, leaning on the front of the desk. He didn't seem to notice me, or Gabriella and Henri.

"What do you mean?" The officer behind the desk asked, still reading his book.

"Well, I bring the kid the paper and pencil she asked for, and she attacks me!" The blond officer said angrily.

"Is Dudley afraid of a little teenager?" The officer behind the desk mocked, still reading his book.

"I'm not afraid," Dudley said, taking away his partner's book. "It's just bothersome." He looked at the title on the book. "What are you reading, Leonard?" He asked disbelievingly.

Leonard reached across the desk for the book, but Dudley pulled it out of his reach. "Give it back!" Leonard exclaimed. "It's my book!"

"Geez, don't be such a baby!" Dudley handed the other officer his book. "I don't even know why you like those things anyway. Unless you plan on becoming a scholar, they serve no purpose."

"Yes they do," Leonard retorted, opening his book and searching for the right page. "By the way, you have some people who want to talk to you." He gestured to Gabriella, Henri, and myself.

"What can I do you for?" The man named Dudley asked.

Henri stood up. "We are here to retrieve someone from your prison," he said.

"It depends on who you're talking about," he said. "There's only about twelve people in there, most of which are in there because they committed a crime. A couple of them are in there for truancy."

"We're looking for someone who's in there because of truancy," I said quickly. I didn't quite know what it meant, but I knew that Charity wasn't a criminal.

"In that case, follow me," Dudley said. "But be warned that you have to be their relatives if you want to get them out."

"We are not her relatives," Henri said. "But my niece here is her unofficial guardian. You see, she and her sister here," he gestured to me, "are orphans, and my niece takes care of them. She would make it legal, but most legal officials wouldn't let the children choose her as a guardian, and they were afraid of being separated."

Dudley opened the large wooden door. "Well, if it's not legal, I could get in trouble for letting the person out," he said. "But I might let it go this one time."

He peeked out to see if his partner was listening, but the other man was deeply into his book. He exclaimed something incomprehensible and jumped up out of his seat.

"Nevermind him," Dudley said when he noticed me watching Leonard. "He always gets into his books like that." Dudley closed the door behind him.

I felt in the dimness for Gabriella's hand. She held mine and helped me down the steep stairs. Dudley held a torch in front of him and was walking slowly down the stairs in front of us.

"These steps are really slippery and really steep," Dudley said. "Try not to fall." We soon reached another wooden door. Dudley reached into his pocket to get something, presumably a key. He started to frantically pat at his jacket pockets. "What the heck?" He cried. "Where are they? That little-Ooh! Just wait until I get my hands on her!" He turned to Henri. "It seems that this little girl who you're after had stolen my keys," he said. "I'll be right back. I have to get the spare." He turned and began to walk back up the stairs.

"My sister is not a thief!" I cried at his retreating figure.

He stopped and turned to me. "The whole reason she's in jail is because she stole, kid," he said. "She stole a loaf of bread." Then he turned and kept walking. I slumped up against Gabriella's arm. She held me and I cried into her dress.

I had never asked where she had gotten the food that she always brought back with her every day. I had assumed that she had gotten it through begging, or through a kind vendor. I had never for one second considered that she might have stolen. The thought made me sick to my stomach.

**A/N: I hope you liked that. Sorry I haven't updated for a while. My school has blocked fanfiction, so I can only work on this at home. Please review!**


	10. Father and Daughters

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 10- Charity

August 17, 1887 

I watched the Phantom as he muttered and swore. He was trying to break open the bars of his cell. He tried one last time to create a space big enough for him to fit through, but he failed miserably.

"I think I saw the bars move," I lied. He looked at me with an almost hopeful expression on his face. Then he realized that I was being sarcastic.

"Very funny," he replied sarcastically.

"No, really," I insisted. "I definitely saw them move, if only a little bit. Why don't you keep on trying relentlessly until you pass out and I can finally have some peace and quiet?"

"I don't think so," he replied. Even so, he continued to ram his side into the side of the cell, and try to bend the bars apart.

"You do realize that those bars are made of iron, right?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

"Yes, I know that," the Phantom replied irritably. "But it's still worth the try."

"No it isn't," I said.

"Yes it is," he contradicted.

"No it isn't."  
"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't!" He screamed at me and threw himself at the bars that separated us.

"Whoa," I said. "Someone has a temper. Perhaps you should consider anger management classes."

"Shut up," he growled. I stuck out my tongue at him. Then, all of a sudden, he laughed. Just like that, he threw back his head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked, feeling slightly offended.

"Just now, you reminded me of my daughter," he said. "We used to fight like that all the time. She would always end it by sticking out her tongue at me. Then I would pick her up and carry her around up-side down until she was screaming for me to put her down." He smiled faintly.

"You really miss your family, don't you?" I asked softly.

He nodded. "Yes," he said, "I miss my wife and child-" He quickly corrected himself, "children greatly. I only wish that my wife were still alive. I would like to believe that she is still on this earth, but I know in my heart that she has died."

"My mother died when my sister was born," I said softly. "I miss her a lot. But the person I miss even more than my mother is my father." I had no idea why I was confiding in him. "You see," I continued, "my father had to leave unexpectedly right before my sister was born, so I don't really remember him. All I remember is that he had black hair like me, and he had green eyes like Dominique."

"Well, it seems that we both have issues," the Phantom said wryly.

I was about to reply, when all of a sudden, there was a noise that came from the direction of the door that I had come through. I crouched in a corner of my cell and waited with baited breath. I could feel the cold metal of the keys pressing against me skin. It gave me Goosebumps, and I shivered, despite the warm sunlight streaming through my cell window.

I glanced in the direction of the Phantom's cell. He had disappeared into the shadows. I saw a faint glimmer of green. I could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Someone in another call, several doors down, stirred.

The sounds of voices reached my ears. They were faint, and I strained to hear the words.

"…If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times," one voice said, "don't keep your keys attached to your belt. Keep them in your jacket."

"I did!" Another voice protested. Both voices were male.

"Can you two not argue?" A third male voice asked. "We are here on business, remember?"

"Alright, alright," the first voice said irritably. "Don't get your knickers in a knot."

"What are knickers?" A high voice asked. I knew that voice. I know it anywhere.

"Dominique?" I called into the darkness. The light of a torch lit up the hallway. I could see two officers, an older man, a young woman, and a small girl.

The girl ran forward. The young woman called after her, "Stop running! You'll fall!"

Dominique slowed down a little, but she still hurried to reach my cell. She came up to my bars and reached one of her hands through. I touched her fingers, and held her hand.

"I thought you were a goner," Dominique said, obviously relieved.

"Don't think they can get rid of me that easily," I replied. "Where have you been? I've been here for ages."

"Only a couple of days," the young woman said, and I realized that it was Gabriella.

"How the heck did you guys manage to find me?" I asked incredulously. I squeezed Dominique's fingers gently so as to reassure myself that she was actually there.

"Well, when you didn't come home, Dominique came and got me," Gabriella said, coming closer so I could see her better. "I figured that you had to either be at the orphanage or in jail, seeing as how there was no other logical explanation for your disappearance. That's where my uncle comes in."

She gestured to the man, who had been talking quietly to the Phantom up until that point. When he was mentioned, he came closer and tipped his hat. I could see that his eyes were white. I wondered if he was blind.

"I see you've met the infamous Phantom of the Opera," he commented to me. I gave a half smile and nodded.

"Yeah," I said, "but he doesn't talk much except to either correct me or complain about how life's not fair."

Gabriella's uncle nodded, as though that were the most natural thing in the world for The Phantom to do. "By the way," he said, "my name is Henri."

"Charity," I said. Suddenly, I heard the Phantom sit up.

"What did you say your name was?" He asked me, clutching the bars of his cell as though he were holding on for dear life. His face loomed close to them, and his nose was almost touching the cold iron.

"Charity," I repeated warily. "Why?"

"Because," Henri answered for the Phantom, "he's your father."

**A/N: Okay, so I finally updated this story. Sorry to all those of you who have been really wanting to read an update, and thank you to all those of you who have been so patient in waiting for an update. I hope that this chapter was to your liking. Review, please, and tell me what you think!**


	11. Regrets

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 11- Both

August 17, 1887 

I stood there for a moment, shocked. Then I started to jump up and down in my heels that were really something that should have been made for someone much older than myself. "Yes!Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" I exclaimed, still jumping up and down. Charity just crouched there in her cell, unmoving. "I knew it!" I said. "I just knew it! Once Maria told me about how Daddy had been taken away because he was wrongfully accused of doing something bad, I just knew that they had sent him off to jail, and there is only one main jail, and here it is! Yes!" I said again, still very excited.

"No," Charity said flatly. "He's not my father."

"Who was your mother?" The Phantom (my daddy) asked Charity.

"Her name was Rebecca. She was very pretty and very smart," I said for her. Charity gave me a threatening look and let go of my hands. "Maria told me that she had blond hair like me, and blue eyes like Charity."

Daddy nodded as though that was something completely natural. Then he said, "Yes, that's exactly how she looked. I remember as though it were yesterday." His eyes took on a faraway look, as though he was back in the past.

Just then, one of the policemen who had come with us said, "Are you telling me that this man, The Phantom of the Opera, the man who killed several people, and then kidnapped a young girl, is the father of these two girls?" He looked incredulously at first Henri, then Daddy.

Daddy stood up to his full height and came close to the bars of his cell. I was amazed that Daddy was at least six feet tall, if not taller. "Are you suggesting that I would not make a good father?" He asked.

"No," the policeman said. "But I was suggesting that I do not believe any woman would want to marry you, let alone have a child with you." I am sure that I had a shocked look on my face. Then I came up to the blond policeman and I kicked him in the shin really hard. I was later to remember that the other policeman had left already.

"That's for insulting my daddy," I said.

"Dominique!" Gabriella exclaimed to me. She went over to the man and began to apologize profusely.

Henri smiled knowingly and Daddy smiled too. Charity was the only one who wasn't happy about the situation. She had slunk back into a corner, trying to be ignored. I wondered what she was thinking.

**-**

I crawled away from where the others were talking until I was completely hidden in shadows. I hated it. I hated it more than anything in the world. I tried to keep a straight face, but my eyes and nose, and everything else wouldn't listen. I pulled my knees up and hugged them to my chest. I tear trickled down my cheek and plopped onto the ground.

Nearly my whole life, I had been telling myself that all I had left of my family was Dominique, and that there was nothing else in the world for me, and nothing that I could do to bring my mother and father back from the dead. Then, suddenly and out of the clear blue, my father shows up in the most unlikely of places. I felt like killing myself. My whole world had been shattered. I had built up this wall; this safe haven, and then someone took a rock and smashed it to bits. Who wouldn't be a little upset? I sniffled quietly. Then Dominique noticed that I had disappeared into the shadows.

"Charity?" She called. "What is it? Aren't you happy? We have a daddy! We're not orphans anymore!" She sounded so happy.

I shook my head. She didn't understand, and she would never understand. She hadn't known our father. She hadn't had to experience first-hand what it was like to be ignored by the person that you loved most.

When I was little, my father was the person that I wanted to be. I don't remember much about how he looked, except that he had black hair and wore black a lot. But he was my whole world. He was everything to me. He made me want to do better, to try harder, and to learn and try new and interesting things. He was the first one to convince me to try to eat a snail, and then watched as I nearly swallowed a live one. He was a little bit like a big brother: Always trying to see what he could do to embarrass me, but only when he was the only one watching. And he was always the one to stop me from doing something stupid of silly, right before it happened. I loved my father. Then, that day came.

I was playing in the front yard, and a man dressed in a suit came up the walk. He didn't look particularly scary, but every nerve screamed at me to run. So I ran. I ran to the back of the house to the shed, where my father was working on something. It was shiny, and it was made of metal. I remember him saying some nasty words that I do not care to repeat. I burst in, and I said that there was a man at the door. He looked up, and he smiled, thinking perhaps that I was overreacting again. But I wasn't.

When he saw who it was, he told me to leave. I pretended to, but I didn't really. It was all for show. I hid in the next room with the door partly open. I don't remember exactly what it was, but I remember my mother crying, and then screaming. I remember running after that evil man's carriage, and I remember mother lying on her bed, with her hair spread out around her. She took my hand in hers and she said, "Charity. Take care of your sister."

And then she died.

-

I looked into the corner, searching for her. She was there; I knew it. It was the fault of those blasted bars! They prevented me from seeing my daughter, and holding her in my arms and telling her how sorry I was that I had left without even saying goodbye. How hard it was for me to see her mother in that state. And how I still had her little voice echoing in my ear, to that day. The cry she made as she ran after the carriage. **_Daddy!_** Every time I remembered, I cried. So tried not to remember. But when the days are long, and everything becomes quieter, I couldn't help but think of my family, and how I blamed myself for every moment that I had to spend away from them.

"Charity," I called softly. "Charity, it's true." My voice broke. I was glad that the policeman was preoccupied and couldn't hear me. "I'm sorry," I whispered softly.

I heard a sniffle. Then I saw her foot stick out into the light. Her blue eyes glimmered faintly in the dimness. "I don't wasn't a daddy," she whispered. "And I don't want a mother, and I don't want an uncle, and I don't want any relative of any kind besides Dominique." Her voice was high, and she sounded as though she was trying not to cry.

"Why not?" Dominique asked, coming closer to the bars of her sister's cell. "All you used to talk about was how it was like before mommy died."

"Because," Charity whispered. She wouldn't expand on that thought, but she didn't need to. I already knew what she meant. She meant that she didn't want family because family is a good thing, and all good things must come to an end sooner or later. I knew how she felt. But how was I supposed to tell her?

Then the other policeman came back. Henri told him the situation, and then I was told something shocking: When it comes to serving out a life sentence, it only really means twenty years. And Henri paid enough money for that to be reduced to ten years. Ergo, I was free.

They unlocked my cell, and then Charity's. When I stepped out of the cell, Dominique came over and hugged me. She seemed so happy. But Charity crept slowly out of her cell, and she stayed as far away from me as possible. I felt hurt that she wouldn't at least shake my hand, or even look at me. But I also felt that I deserved it. I didn't even ask if I could say goodbye to my little girl. How is a five year-old child supposed to know that her father loves her if he doesn't say so the day that he gets carted away for ten years?

**A/N: I hope you liked that. I'm actually very surprised that I have two reviews in one weekend. It's thanksgiving weekend, too (you must remember that I live in Canada), so I'm going to my grandmother's on Monday. She makes the best food ever! It's probably going to be turnkey, and then pumpkin pie for desert. She might even have made lemon meringue pie, if she really wants to do something special. (For those of you who don't know, lemon meringue pie is my favorite.)**


	12. The Belt

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 12- Charity

**I can't believe this. My father was in the cell next to me all this time, and I didn't even notice it. When I look back on it now, I realize there were clues: How I looked like his daughter, how he didn't know if his second child was a boy or a girl.**

**Even though he is now living with me and Dominique, and she loves him, I still don't feel any connection to him. I feel no love towards him, but no hate either. It's as though he isn't even here. I no longer have to act as the parent, and he is trying to be a good father, but I still don't feel as though he is my father. I feel as though I lost my father, and this man, is just a shadow of him.**

**But let me recall what happened after we returned to Henri's house. Erik (that's what I'm going to call him from now on), sat down on the couch, and Dominique sat beside him, snuggling up to him. Somehow, I got the feeling that she wanted to feel close to him, even though she didn't.**

**I didn't stay with them. After Erik had a chance to apologize to me, and I forgave him, (I really did forgive him, but it still wasn't the same. When someone important to you disappears for ten years without a trace, you can't get those years back.) I went upstairs, and Maria showed me the room that used to be my mothers before she died. (Erik had decided already that he wouldn't be able to use that room anymore because of the memories that it held.)**

**I was looking in the mirror, and it seemed almost as though my mother, but a younger form of her, was looking back at me. Yes, I know that she was blond, and I have black hair like Erik, but I still felt as though she was looking back at me, and her face was mournful.**

**I opened on of the dresser drawers, and saw that it was empty. I slammed it closed in sudden anger. When I did, I heard a sound. It was the sound of metal on wood. I opened the drawer again and saw something that I had missed before: tiny seams along the bottom of the drawer.**

**I stuck the end of a pin inside one of the seams, and pulled upwards. A small section of the drawer came up, and I pulled it away. When I removed it, I saw a white bracelet. It was very simple, and it had a small square section of it that had numbers from one to nine written on raised sections. The number zero was on a raised section below the others, with a picture of a star on the left, and four lines that crisscrossed on the right. I pulled it out, and a crumpled piece of paper fell to the floor.**

**I picked up the piece of paper and uncrumpled it to the best of my ability. It was a note, with some numbers written at the bottom. I skimmed through the note. It was a set of instructions. This is what it said:**

**Here is a set of rules that you must follow so as to be able to go through time without getting lost:**

**1. Make sure you're wearing the proper attire for the time you wish to travel to.**

**2. Make sure you have proper supplies, and are not bringing anything with you that could change the future, or the past.**

**3. Make sure to have studied the century that you are traveling to before you set the coordinates.**

**4. Don't forger the belt/bracelet. Follow the combinations below and you'll be fine.**

**For the year 1870, press: 18701**

**To return home, press: 20061**

**To shrink: 374**

**To grow larger: 473**

**For the year that you want to go to: press the numbers on the keypad of the year. Add the number one to the end of each combination.**

**What did it mean? I read it again, and then the realization of the meaning of the note hit me like a brick. I looked down at the bracelet in my hand. The bracelet was something that could take a person backwards and forwards in time.**

**I was shocked. Time travel? Was that even possible? A thought occurred to me that perhaps this had been my mother's. But how could she have gotten hold of something that could take a person back or forwards in time?**

**Then another thought occurred to me: I could use the bracelet to go back in time. You must be thinking that I'm pretty slow not to have realized this before, but with this thought, I realized that I could go back in time to save my mother! It would be wonderful! My father would stay the way he was before mother died, and Dominique and I wouldn't have to live on the streets.**

**I didn't want to dwell on this thought any more than I had to, because I knew that if I did, I would get excited, and no one would believe that I was fine if that were the case.**

**I went into the closet and searched for a fresh dress, as I was still wearing the ragged dress that I had worn every day for the past four years. I saw a tub of hot water that the maid, Maria, must have left for me. I stripped and bathed, letting myself have a good soak. As I lay in the bathwater, I thought about my discovery. I glanced over to where I had set the piece of paper and the bracelet. They were on the little night table that was beside the large, double canopied bed.**

**I stepped out of the water and dried myself with a towel that was lying on the bed. I dried my hair and put on the dress I had chosen. It was something very simple, and when I put it on, I actually noticed that I was a young woman and not a child anymore. I had always thought of myself as nothing more than a child who was trying to act grown up. As I gazed at my reflection, my eyes drifted to the bracelet and the piece of paper lying next to it. I snatched both of them up, and I knew what I had to do.**

**I went downstairs with the bracelet in my dress pocket and went into the kitchen. The cooks were busy preparing the evening meal. I would have to wait. It was not a good time to go and disappear. Still, though, I could prepare.**

**When no one was looking, I glanced at the paper, and knew what I had to do. I snuck into the pantry and grabbed a wicker basket that sitting on the floor near the bottom of the stairs. Then I started to stuff it with food.**

**When I had filled it up, I crept back up the stairs and peered out. No one was paying any attention to the pantry. I crept out of the pantry, and ran through the kitchen door, into the gardens.**

**I dashed past the flora and hid behind some bushes. I waited a moment before hiding the basket of food in the bushes. Then, I returned via the front door. Jacques was shocked when he saw me come in through the front door. When he asked me how I got past him, I had to think of something, and quickly.**

**"Uh…" I said uncertainly. "I'm very sneaky." I smiled a clever smile that said I was teasing him, and dashed past him, and upstairs, where there was a shelf full of books. I knew that I should brush up on politics and the suchlike before I left, so I decided to bury myself in some books on politics from a decade ago.**


	13. Time Traveling

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 13- Charity

**It was after midnight by the time Erik went to bed. I didn't want him to worry about me, and what I was about to do. I had to pretend like nothing was wrong; like I was in my room, and would be there until morning. The only problem was that I didn't know if my time went on without me, while I was in the past.**

**I snuck out of the house in the dress that I had picked out. I had a plan. I crept over to where I had hidden the basket. It wasn't there. At first, I panicked. Then I realized that it was dark; I probably just hadn't looked in the right spot. Sure enough, after about ten minutes of searching in the dark, I found the basket. The food was still in it, and for that I was grateful. None of the dogs (I assumed there were dogs) had gotten to the meat and cheese that I had wrapped up in some cloth.**

**I picked up the basket and checked my pocket to make sure that the bracelet was still there. It was nestled next to the small piece of paper that had the instructions on it.**

**I waited a few more moments before creeping out into the openness of the garden. I was glad that Erik was asleep. Otherwise, he would have definitely tried to stop me.**

**As I stood among the flora of the garden, I waited with baited breath and the paper in my hands. The sky was as dark as the pitch that used to be thrown over castle walls in time of siege. I waited in the dark for what I needed to be able to read the instructions and follow through. I was waiting for moonlight.**

**Just when I thought that the night would be dark forever, the clouds parted, and I thanked God for helping me. I quickly used the light I had, and bent over the paper.**

**The year that I was right now was 1887. The year that I wanted to go to was 1880, the year that my sister was born. I was going to go back in time seven years.**

**I glanced over the instructions and pushed in the numbers that made it grow bigger. The bracelet hummed underneath my fingers, and before my eyes, it grew five sizes bigger. For a moment, I hadn't believed that it was true, but now I believed it. Then I clasped the belt around my waist.**

**After a moment, I noticed that the moonlight was waning. From the looks of the sky, it was almost dawn. I had to leave right away if I wanted to be gone by the time Erik, Dominique, and Gabriella woke.**

**With a big breath, I plucked up the courage, and punched in five numbers: one, eight, eight, zero, one.**

**I waited a moment, but nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the belt began to hum around my waist. I breathed a sharp intake of breath as the belt grew warmer and warmer. The wind picked up, and seemed to swirl around me. My body seemed to be shivering, despite the fact that the belt was very hot already.**

**The scenery before me seemed to waver and shift. The plants became more tended, and the flowers were opening up in the new dawn. Some flowers even changed shape and color. Roses became tiger lilies, and daffodils became pansies. It was all so strange.**

**And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything stopped. The wind died down to a cool breeze, and the belt immediately grew stone cold and stopped humming.**

**I looked around myself. The house was only a few hundred yards away, and it looked just as it had before, although one side looked as though it had been freshly painted.**

**I began to walk around, getting a feel for the place all over again. Perhaps I had gone back in time. There was a part of me that hadn't thought it would work, but maybe it had; just maybe.**

**My walking took me to the far edge of the gardens, where the gardener's home was. It was a small cottage that looked as though it had maybe two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. It was just big enough for the gardener and his wife.**

**A memory stirred inside my mind, one that couldn't fully form. Then, like a rushing wind, it came to me. The memory was of my father. He was tending the garden, and I was helping. When I went back inside, my face had been all red from the heat. I was fair skinned, like my father, and we both had used cloths over out foreheads.**

**The home that I had lived in at that time, before Dominique was born, was the gardener's home! I immediately hid; concerned that someone might see me. It was only at that moment that it occurred to me that I might appear conspicuous. I had jet black hair, like my father. If little me was here, too, then she, being me and very smart, might notice. There were only two options. One: wear a wig. Two: dye my hair.**

**I didn't want to do either. The thing that I had always been proud of when it came to my appearance was my hair. I couldn't just dye it, and I certainly didn't want to cover it up.**

**Just as I was pondering this, the door to the little cottage opened. The sun was high in the sky now, and I could clearly see who it was. It was Erik. He was saying something to someone through the open door. I couldn't hear what it was, but I saw him duck as a bowl came flying out the door. He said something else, all the while with a smile on his face, and then closed the door.**

**I ducked my head behind some bushes as he walked past. If there was one thing that I didn't want, it would be for Erik to see me. Somehow, I felt sure that he would recognize me, despite the fact that I was from the future, and he hadn't met me yet.**

**My hair was like my father's, and, although my eyes were blue, they weren't the same kind of blue as my mother's had been. Gabriella had told me that many times. My eyes were the color of blue and green combined together, although Dominique had always said that they were the color of the sky just before the sun sets.**

**As he passed me, Erik stiffened. He seemed to shrug it off, but I had spent most of my life creeping around a dusty city. I knew when someone knew where I was. But there was no way that I could risk moving. Then he would definitely know where I was.**

**But the next second, something came hurdling towards my face. I dropped and rolled. The axe missed me by a hair. I lay on the ground, stunned.**

**Just when I though my heart had slowed down enough for me to be able to get up, someone grabbed the back of my collar and yanked me upwards. I was forced to stare into the masked face of Erik, my father.**


	14. Lullaby Magic

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 14-Charity

**I sucked in my breath when I was forced to stare into that piercing emerald green gaze. Erik's face was contorted into a snarl of fury. Just when I thought that my own father was going to kill me, I heard a voice.**

**"Erik!" The voice said. "Put that young woman down this instant before I tie you up and force you to eat my porridge!" Erik obeyed immediately.**

**A young woman with short blond hair and blue eyes came up to me. She was heavily pregnant, and I realized with a start that this woman was my mother. Why, she didn't look much older than I was when I had traveled back in time.**

**"You mean sludge," Erik grumbled.**

**In reply, the young woman smacked his rump with a wooden spoon. I couldn't help it. It was too funny. I started to laugh hysterically. I was holding my side and had trouble breathing.**

**"See?" The young woman said. "She agrees with me."**

**"Rebecca, she was spying on us," Erik protested. He sounded like a little child. I forced myself to stop laughing, as I knew that it might mean my identity revealed. I stood up and brushed myself off.**

**The Rebecca turned to me. "Were you spying on us?" She asked.**

**"No, ma'am," I said, shaking my head. "I was only admiring the flowers." I was very nervous, and I knew that it showed.**

**"Well, Erik," Rebecca said. "There you have it. You're a regular old grump."**

**Erik looked at her in confusion. "Huh?"**

**"You know," Rebecca said. "You're one of those old men who yells at kids to 'get off of my lawn, ya whippersnappers!'" She smiled at him.**

**"First of all," Erik growled, wrapping his arm around Rebecca's waist and pulling her closer to him. "I am not old. And second of all, what the heck is a whippersnapper?"**

**Rebecca threw back her head then and laughed. Her laugh was a merry, tinkling sound that echoed throughout the garden.**

**"Of course you're not that old, Erik," She said with a merry twinkle in her eye. "But you are older than me." She smiled and kissed him on the mouth before he could say anything more. "And I love you despite the fact that you're an old grump," she said with her lips still partially pressed against his mouth.**

**Just then, a little girl ran from the house and jumped onto Erik's back. She had black hair like Erik, and blue-green eyes…like me.**

**"Horsey ride! Horsey ride!" She declared.**

**Erik growled at her and grabbed her arms, which were wound tightly around his neck. "I'll tie your nose in double and triple knots if you don't let go of me, Charity," he threatened.**

**Charity laughed. "How can you tie my nose in knots if I've got my arms around your neck?" She asked and laughed again.**

**I realized then that I would have to think of a fake name to use. I quickly picked the first one that came to my head.**

**"Hey!" Charity cried then. "Who's the lady in the pretty dress?"**

**"I'm Dominique," I said without thinking.**

**"I'm Rebecca," Rebecca said. "And this is my husband, Erik, and our daughter, Charity." Charity smiled at me, revealing a row of pearly whites.**

**"Pleased to meet you," I said, forcing myself not to cry for joy.**

**"Erik, take Charity to help you with the gardens, please," Rebecca said pointedly.**

**"Women," Erik muttered and left with Charity hanging from the back of his neck.**

**"Come with me," Rebecca said as soon as they had left. "You look hungry."**

**"Oh, no, I'm fine," I said. I held up the basket that I had brought with me. "I have something to eat with me."**

**"Rebecca raised and eyebrow, but didn't say anything. She just walked off. After a moment, she turned around and said, "Are you coming, or what?" I ran after her. She had a strange way of talking.**

**I stepped inside the little house, and everything in it was immediately comforting. This felt like home. There was a little table to my left, and a coat rack to my right. A small stove was right across from the door, and near the table was a door that I knew went into Rebecca and Erik's bedroom. There was also another door on the right side of the stove that I knew led to Charity's bedroom.**

**"This is cozy," I said, trying to control my voice.**

**"Sit down," Rebecca said. "I may not be able to make porridge, but I sure can make some bread with jam." She smiled at me, and went up to the stove, where there was a little shelf right above it.**

**She opened the little cupboard, and took out a loaf of bread. She cut twp thick slices of bread and put the rest of the loaf back in the cupboard. Then she pulled open the ice box and pulled out a jar of jam. She took a knife and stabbed it into the frozen preservative. She yanked the knife out and stabbed it again. This process was repeated several times before she pulled out a hunk of jam and plopped it onto one of the pieces of bread. She spread a thick layer of jam onto the bread, and the rest she put onto the other slice. Then she closed the container of jam and stuck it back in the icebox.**

**"Here you go," she said, handing me one of the slices of bread. I stared at it stupidly. The bread itself had been mutilated in the process of spreading the jam. Rebecca had already taken a big hunk of her bread and stuffed it into her mouth.**

**"When I taste this, I can almost imagine a slurpee in my hands," she murmured, while staring at the kitchen tabletop.**

**"What's a slurpee?" I asked.**

**"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," she said with a twinkle in her eye.**

**The following ten minutes passed in silence. Then, when Rebecca had finished her slice of bread, she brushed the crumbs off of the table, swallowed the last bit of food in her mouth and faced me. Her expression was so serious, that I stopped with the final piece of bread halfway to my mouth.**

**"What?" I asked warily.**

**Rebecca leaned forward and I put the remaining piece of bread down on the table. "Who are you, really," she asked me in a whisper.**

**The sound of singing could be heard coming from outside. It was Charity singing a song that Rebecca had taught her. It was me singing a song that my mother had taught me.**

**In a soft voice, I started singing along:**

"**Well, the sun is slowly sinking down**

**But the moon is slowly rising.**

**And this old world must still be spinning round**

**And I still love you**

**So close your eyes.**

**You can close your eyes, it's alright.**

**I don't know no love songs,**

**And I can't sing the blues anymore**

**But I can sing this song,**

**And you can sing this song when I'm gone.**

"**It won't be long before another day.**

**We're gonna have a good time.**

**And no one's gonna take that time away.**

**You can stay as long as you like.**

**So close your eyes.**

**You can close your eyes, it's alright.**

**I don't know no love songs,**

**And I can't sing the blues anymore**

**But I can sing this song,**

**And you can sing this song when I'm gone."**

**"You can sing this song when I'm gone," I whispered softly. I had had my eyes closed. I opened them now to see Rebecca face turned white. Too late, I realized that I probably shouldn't have sung that song.**

**"Who are you?" Rebecca asked in a frightened voice.**

**Silently, I removed the belt from around my waist and set it on the table. I knew I was taking a great risk, but I hadn't seen my mother in ten years. What would you do in my place?**

**As soon as Rebecca saw the belt, she covered her mouth and bit her lip, presumably to keep herself from screaming. She pointed to the belt. "W-where did you get that?" She asked in a deathly quiet voice.**

**"I found it," I replied.**

**"You did not find that," she said, shaking her head at me.**

**"Yes I did," I replied. "I found it. In ten years."**

**Rebecca looked at me in horror. "Who are you?" She asked.**


	15. Mother Bear

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 15 – Charity

**"Well," I began. "That's a little complicated to explain." I twiddled my fingers together.**

**"Try," she replied, looking as thought she was getting over her shock.**

**"Well," I began again. "You see, I'm from the future." I smiled hesitantly. She said nothing. "Surprise," I said, smiling still.**

**"What year?" She asked.**

**"Pardon?" I asked.**

**"What year are you from?" She repeated.**

**"Oh, 1887," I replied.**

**Her face fell a little. "Oh," she said, echoing me.**

**"What?" I asked. "Were you looking for a specific answer?"**

**"No," she replied. "But I was hoping for another answer. Then again," she smiled at me. "If I had gotten the answer I wanted, you would have known what a slurpee was." She smiled ironically.**

**"I am, was, will be," I stuttered over the words to explain myself. "I will be a maid in Henri's house," I finally managed to say.**

**"Will you now?" Rebecca asked. "I'm not so sure that I believe you, but I can run with it."**

**"Huh?" I asked. What was she talking about? Women didn't run. They might walk at a brisk pace, but they never ran.**

**"Nevermind," she replied. We could hear the sounds of Charity (AKA: Little me) still singing outside the house, and Erik singing along. The sweet high voice of the smaller version of me mixing with Erik's flowing voice made for a beautiful memory. I remembered singing with Erik, when he was my father. I closed my eyes.**

**"How did you get your hands on the belt?" Rebecca asked. "Because I keep my copy around my waist at all times."**

**"It was in a dresser drawer, concealed beneath a thin layer of wood. It was actually very difficult to tell that there was even a compartment there. I had to look really closely." I looked up at her. Then, I took another big chance. I pulled out the piece of paper from my pocket, and showed it to her. I felt sure now that it was her writing.**

**"This was with the belt," I said and I handed it to her.**

**Rebecca took the paper from me and looked at it. Then, she laughed out loud. "I never thought I'd see this again," she said.**

**"What do you mean?" I asked, curious.**

**"This was something that someone I used to know gave to me a long time ago. I thought it was wrecked. Although, it looks like my writing, so I must have been able to decipher the writing and rewrite it." Then, a thought must have occurred to her, because she looked up at me with a frightened look on her face.**

**"What a minute," she said. "I keep the belt with me at all times. How could it have been in a drawer if I was wearing it around my waist, or wrist?"**

**"You weren't wearing it," I replied.**

**"I know that much," Rebecca replied. "I just want to know why."**

**"Well, now that we've had a chance to get to know each other, why don't we change the subject to something a little less grim?" Stupid thing to say.**

**"What do you mean, grim?" Rebecca asked, narrowing her eyes at me.**

**"Uh, that is," I smiled. "Don't hurt me." I leaned away from her.**

**"I may be pregnant," she said. "But that doesn't mean I can't kick your ass." She stood up and glared at me menacingly.**

**"You weren't wearing it because, uh, you were sick," I lied. I didn't want to say the word, 'dead' because I was afraid that I'd start crying.**

**Just then, Erik came in with Charity. She was crying.**

**"What's the matter sweetie?" Rebecca instantly became the caring mom. She went over to her daughter and led her to the table, where she sat her down and stroked her hair while she cried.**

**"She tripped over a tree root and scraped her knee," Erik replied a little dismissively. I didn't remember that about him. I had always thought of him as the caring father. Then again, he probably hadn't ever fallen down.**

**"Don't be so harsh, Erik," Rebecca scolded. "She may not have to go through what you went through, but she does fall down sometimes." Charity's knee was a little bruised, but it wasn't bleeding.**

**Suddenly, I remembered that day through the eyes of a smaller version of myself. I remembered my mother, big pregnant belly pressing against my leg as I cried. I remembered her hug, and I remembered taking my daddy's hand to go back and play outside. I nearly started to cry, but I brought myself back into reality in time to save myself some explanations that would get very messy.**

**"Is Dominique staying for lunch?" Erik asked, turning to me.**

**"Uh, no thank you," I said, raising a hand. But Rebecca stopped me.**

**"Of course she is, Erik," she corrected me to him.**

**"Uh, sure," I said, improvising.**

**"Henri has invited us to take lunch with him," Erik told Rebecca. She nodded in reply.**

**"When is lunch?" She asked.**

**"Probably in just a little bit, so we should go there now."  
"I'm sure he won't mind having an extra guest," Rebecca said to me and she gave me a look that said she wanted to continue the previous conversation later on.**

**I nodded my assent, swallowing loudly in fear. I didn't want to be the one to tell her that she was going to die because her husband was going to be wrongly accused of killing someone. Perhaps I could get out of it somehow. I tried to think of a way as we walked towards the house.**

**When we arrived through the back door, a butler greeted us. I didn't know Henri had a butler. Erik led the way to the dining room, and when we got there, I saw that Henri was already there. He looked up as we entered and motioned for us to sit down. I swallowed again. There was large possibility that he was going ask about me, and that scared me.**

**But after being introduced as Dominique, Henri said nothing. He just looked at me with a fierce intensity that frightened me as much as it would have if he had questioned me. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. As we began to eat, Charity filled the silence with her incessant chatter. I hadn't remembered being so talkative. I smiled at her and joined in the conversation, knowing what was important to her.**

**"…And then I saw a butterfly that had orange wings with black spots," she said halfway through the meal.**

**"That's called a monarch butterfly, honey," Rebecca said. She glanced at me, and I tried to smile.**

**Just then, a bell sounded throughout the house. The noise filled me with dread. I remembered that sound so well, and then I knew. Today was the day. I must have looked terrified, because Charity fell silent when she saw my face.**

**"What's the matter?" She asked. "You look like someone just died, or something."**

**At her words, my face paled even more. Oh, no. what was I going to do? I opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was a tiny squeak.**

**Just then, the butler returned with word of who was at the door. I already knew who it was.**

**"Sir, there are two policemen here wanting to speak to a mister Opera Ghost," the butler said. "They insist he lives here."**

**"That will be me," Erik said, and he stood up. Rebecca's face looked grave. "Don't worry, dear," he said to her "I'll take care of it."**

**"I'll come with you," she replied, taking his arm and pushing herself up off her chair. Charity jumped off her chair and followed after them. I followed Charity, terrified at what was going to happen.**


	16. Accused and Arrested

A Gift for Charity

Chapter 16 – Charity

When I saw the policemen, I felt like throwing up. I didn't want to go through this again. I didn't want to watch it happen all over again. I didn't want to have to go back to that orphanage where the nuns would beat you if you didn't do things the way they wanted. I didn't want to go back to that night, when I had to carry three-year-old Dominique out of the burning building. I didn't want to go back to that time in the warehouse. I didn't want to have to steal food secretly without ever letting Dominique know. I wanted everything to be the way it was before.

But that wasn't what happened.

The policemen said that Erik was under arrest.

"No!" Rebecca said, slamming her fist against the wall for emphasis.

"What are the charges?" Henri asked.

"Murder," the shorter of the policemen said.

"That was cleared years ago," Rebecca said. The worry lines on her face seemed to deepen.

"This murder happened a few days ago," the second policeman said.

"It wasn't him," I ventured.

"Really?" The first policeman sneered. "Well, there's a witness, so unless you can prove that he wasn't there, he is under arrest and his sentence will be given out tomorrow. It will probably be death." He was an evil looking man, and I knew he wanted to scare us. I looked at Rebecca. Her face had paled so that it was almost white.

"You lie," I said, glaring at him with the hatred born from ten years of sorrow and suffering.

He smiled an evil smiled and clapped Erik in irons. "Sorry, miss," he said in a mocking tone. "But there's nothing you can do." Then they left, taking Erik with them. Erik hadn't said anything. He seemed to be in shock.

"Daddy!" Charity ran after him, her arms outstretched and tears running down her face. But her short little legs couldn't run fast enough, and they had driven off before she had had a chance to reach them. She fell into a crumpled heap on the ground and cried the kind of tears that only a child could cry.

I wanted to run after him too, but I stayed where I was. I cried silently, knowing that I had failed. My mother would go into early labor and die in childbirth, and there would be nothing that I could do.

Rebecca leaned up against the wall, holding her stomach. There was a puddle on the floor.

"I think my water broke," she said, turning to me with eyes wide with fright.

"I'll call the midwife," Henri said, running into the house. With tears running down my cheeks, I helped Rebecca into one of the rooms. She seemed calm, but I knew that that could change in an instant.

I helped her lie down and I propped her up on a mound of pillows. I also raised her legs with some pillows, so when it came time it would be easier for the baby to come out. I saw Charity enter the room, then, and I suddenly remembered seeing someone do this for my mother. That must have been how I knew what to do.

"Mommy, what's going on?" She asked.

"Honey, come here," Rebecca said. Charity came and sat down beside her. "Honey, do you remember what I told you, about the baby being in mommy's stomach?" Charity nodded. "Well, the baby is now ready to come out, so I have to sit here and help the baby out. It's going to hurt me a little, but don't you worry about me. I'll be fine. Alright?" Charity nodded again.

Then, Henri came in. "The midwife will be here as soon as she can. I've sent the carriage for her so that she will be sure to get here safely."

"Thank you," I whispered, and Rebecca echoed my thanks. Henri glanced at me, and then led Charity out so that he could explain some things to her.

"Well," Rebecca said once he had left, "it seems that now is as good a time as any to explain yourself. Who are you really?" She looked at me pointedly.

"I can't tell you," I said, knowing what I must do. "But I do know that you are going to die." I held her hand as the tears trickled down my cheeks.

"What?" Rebecca whispered softly, her face filled with horror.

"After the baby is born, you are going to die," I repeated. "And Henri is not going to be able to have custody of the children, so they are going to go to an orphanage." I was speaking so fast that I couldn't quite keep track of what I should have and shouldn't have been saying. "Then," I continued, "they will have to escape from the orphanage because it's so terrible, and they will have to live on the streets until Charity is a teenager, when they will finally be reunited with their father, but it won't be the same because you aren't there."

"You learned all that from being a maid, huh?" Rebecca asked. Then she gasped as a labor pain took hold of her.

"Not exactly," I said, smiling a little through my tears.

"Don't feel bad about being from the future," Rebecca said as soon as the pain had passed.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because, I know how you feel," she replied. "I'm from the future, too." My jaw dropped about ten inches. "I'm from the year 2006," she continued. Then she smiled a little. "If I lived in that era now, then I would be able to live through this pregnancy," she smiled.

Suddenly, an idea came to me. "But you have the belt," I said, pointing to the bracelet that hung around her wrist.

She seemed to be able to follow my train of thought. "You're right," she said slowly. "I could go into the future! And there, I would be able to live after having given birth." She smiled.

"No," I said. "You have to go there before you give birth."

"Why?" She asked.

"Because," I replied. "Otherwise, you won't be able to have the energy to get to a place where there's a midwife."

"We don't have midwife's in the future, but I see what you mean," Rebecca replied. "I'm going to name my child after you," she said. "Be it a boy or a girl." She smiled.

Then, she removed the belt from around her wrist, and punched in some numbers. I pulled out the piece of paper from my pocket and handed it to her.

"You're going to need this," I said. "Don't forget to return again. Your daughter will need you."

She smiled, and stood up. I helped her up, and we went to explain to Henri what she was going to try.

"I'll take good care of Charity while you're gone," he said. Charity wasn't in the room at the time, and I knew that Rebecca wanted to say goodbye.

"We have to go now," I said, as Rebecca gasped because another labor pain took hold. Then I helped lead her outside, and into the second carriage that Henri owned. It took us to the Paris Opera house.

"We have to get out here," Rebecca said. "Because this is where it all began."

I took Rebecca over to an alley in between the opera house and another building and I let her lean against the wall. Then, I clasped the belt over her chest, as it wouldn't fit over her belly.

"I'll punch in the numbers," I said. Then, I punched in two, zero, zero, six, and one. The belt started to hum.

"Goodbye," Rebecca said. "And thank you." And before my eyes, she faded from sight.

Then, I took my belt and punched in the numbers for home. I didn't know what I would find, but I prayed that it would be something good. For once, I wanted to see Erik again.

I smiled. My mother would be well, and my family would be able to come back together. I had succeeded in doing what I had wanted to accomplish from the very beginning.

A/N: Done! Yes, this story is finally done! And, yes to the next question, there will be another story continuing the story, from Rebecca's point


End file.
